


Adorable

by Kammzy



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: All The Fucking, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Coldflash Week 2015, F/F, F/M, I needed more murder in my OTP, Knifeplay, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex, coldflash - Freeform, serial killer au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-27 14:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6287815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kammzy/pseuds/Kammzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who’d have thought that someone so doe eyed was hiding such a big secret. Barry Allen can’t help it. He’s always loved knives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Heavy Lifting

Len noticed him the minute he walked in the door. Everyone did. His body language screamed ‘first-timer’, and in a dive like this that was like striking gold. He stood in the doorway and looked around, in a cardigan and khaki pants no less, before moving towards the bar. Len stared covertly out of the corner of his eye, whilst many others stared outright.

The kid leaned forward against the bar, but looking the way he did it didn’t take much to get the bartender’s attention. Len scanned his eyes down his body, taking in his tall body and the thin sliver of skin peeking above the waistline of his pants, followed by an ass that Len wanted to take a bite out of, and then some. He felt a wave of possessiveness wash over him, and Len tried to quell it before he got himself into more trouble. He was already holing out in here. Len didn’t want to see how much further he could sink.

Still, Len couldn’t help the growl that escaped when Tony Woodward slipped beside the kid and slid his dirty hand all over him. He jumped visibly as he looked at who had touched him, grinning sheepishly at his skittishness and running a hand through his soft looking brown hair. Tony didn’t move his hand despite getting the kid’s attention.

_Mine!Mine!MiNE!MINE!MINE! STOP TOUCHING HIM!_

Len had to remind himself to ease his grip as his knuckles whitened around his scotch glass. He breathed heavily through his nose as Tony chatted up the kid. Tony fucking Woodward touching what wasn’t his. _He has a habit of sticking his mitts where they don’t belong_ , Len thought, thinking of a few times where he and Woodward had nearly come to blows for his insistence on being a completely intolerable prick with a penchant for pushing buttons. Whatever Tony said must have been funny, because the kid threw his head back and laughed, and for a moment Len almost swore the room was a little brighter. As they talked the soft baritone of the kids voice drifted over, and it was enough to help ease his irrational desire to wipe Woodward off the face of the earth.

Sitting there, watching the kid stare at Tony with his wide doe like eyes, almost obscene in their innocence, Len could feel himself stirring, and would very gladly have smashed Woodward’s brains out to turn those eyes on himself. Instead he downed his drink and got out of the booth to get another, giving him an excuse to get closer. Close enough to hear his words, and know just how comedic Woodward really was.

Len flagged the bartender with a signal and settled into a stool. From here he could almost smell the kid, who was now just two stools away.

“So,” Woodward started, “Barry? Is that a nickname, or are you named after one of the greats?”

From the corner of his eye Len saw the flush that crept up the back of the kids neck, even in the dim lighting of the shit hole he was currently drinking in.

As he took a sip of his new drink the kid - Barry - responded. “Bartholomew, after my grandfather.” And at the sound of his voice Len had to remind himself to swallow. Just the sound of that kid saying his name and Len felt his pants tightening. That was a voice he could listen to always.

“Well I doubt he was as handsome as you.”

Len’s knuckles cracked at Woodward’s smarmy tone. _Can’t even chat the kid up right_ , he thought.

“You’re not too bad yourself.” Barry replied, ducking his head demurely and setting Len’s teeth on edge at the fact that he wasn’t on the receiving end of that look.

“Do you wanna get out of here Barry?” Woodward leaned into Barry, dropping his voice in what Len assumed was meant to be seductive. The jerky movement of the kid nodding his head caught Len’s eye and his head turned, no longer caring about subtlety, to watch the pair leave the bar. It was without thought that he settled his tab, donned his parka and followed them out into the night.

He looked around before he caught sight of them heading left away from the bar. Len had to remind himself that he was following them stealthily to keep himself from rushing forward and breaking the arm that Woodward had around Barry’s shoulders.

 _I’m going to take my time with you_ , Len thought with glee as he watched the pair (he refused to think of them as a couple) turn into a dark alleyway.

Just before he got to the alley himself he heard a cry of surprise and what sounded like a small scuffle. The idea of Woodward laying a finger on what belonged to Len sent nitrogen through his veins and he jogged to get to the alley. Imagine Len’s surprise when he turned the corner and saw the skinny brunette weighed down by Tony Woodward’s unconscious body. Len stumbled to a stop, stunned. This was the exact opposite of what he imagined he’d see.

“Mother of - God damn it!” The kid grumbled to himself as he tried to maneuver Woodward’s body down the alleyway. “You didn’t look this heavy awake.’

Len’s eyebrows flew into his hairline as a slow smirk grew on his face.

_Well, well, well. Who’d a thunk?_

Len adjusted the growing hardness in his pants as he waited with anticipation to see exactly what the kid was going to do.

About a meter from the edge of the alley way in relative darkness Barry gave up, dropping Tony’s body unceremoniously on the ground.

“How the fudge nuggets am I gonna get you to my car?” He questioned aloud, one hand on his hip and the other scratching his head in thought.

 _Like my own personal damsel in distress_ , Len thought as he walked into the alleyway, approaching his wet dream in crochet.

“Perhaps I can be of assistance.” He said, Barry jumping at the sound of his voice.

“Christ on a cracker!” Green eyes flashed to his, and for a second time Len found himself breathless by something this disarming man had done. Len stared, transfixed as Barry’s eyes began to flash around the alleyway in panic.

“This uh, it’s- I mean it’s not what it looks like.” And Len chuckled at the kid’s atrocious attempt at lying.

“I’m not judging.” He shrugged, moving towards Tony’s feet. Barry didn’t move from his position. Instead he stared at Len, fingers twisting together like he’d been caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar and not in the midst of an abduction.

“Weren’t you in the bar?” He asked finally.

Len shrugged, “Guilty.”

“You followed us.” This wasn’t a question.

Len shrugged again. “I was curious.”

Barry frowned, folding his arms almost self consciously. “About what?”

“You.” Len said honestly, “And clearly that curiosity was rewarded,” Len smirked, gesturing to the motionless body at his feet, which only grew as he watched Barry flush in embarrassment. “Now you gonna help me drag this to your car or would you like to continue the Spanish Inquisition until someone happens to stumble by?”

That seemed to jolt Barry into action and he scurried over to Len, who raised his eyebrow and attempted to lower his dick at the close proximity of the brunette.

“The heads the heaviest part!” He complained, waving dramatically, making Len roll his eyes before he moved to the head of the body. He found the kid’s complaint strangely endearing.

It was little work to lug the body the block to Barry’s run down Ford between the two of them, and Len found himself fighting the urge to drop the body and press the kid against a wall at the way he held his tongue between his plump lips at the strain of carrying Woodward. Even unconscious he was still a fucking inconvenience. When they got to Barry’s car he dropped Tony’s legs, fumbling with his keys as he worked to open his trunk.

“Any day kid.” Len grunted under the weight of the body.

“Don’t rush me!” He snapped, popping the trunk open. “Gosh.” He sighed to himself in annoyance before moving to help Len fold Woodward into the boot. Barry sagged against the trunk in relief when it was finally closed.

“Heavens that was close.” He giggled, glancing at Len in glee.

Len smiled at his enthusiasm. This was clearly his first rodeo. “You may want to invest in duct tape for next time. It’s a pain trying to reign them in when they wake up in the trunk.”

Barry raised an eyebrow at Len, his childlike smile sinking into something nearly sinister.

“He’s not gonna wake up for a while. I know my way around a tranquiliser.”

The kid bit his lip, looking Len up and down, and he felt himself twitch in interest at being eyed in such a manner.

“Thanks for the help.” Barry said after a beat of silence. “I better get out of here.”

Len nodded slowly. “You do that. Try not to strain yourself with your . . . package.”

Barry gave him a grin before he got into the driver’s seat, but before he drove away he wound down the window. 

“What’s your name?”

Len hesitated for a moment. It was a terrible idea, he knew, but something in the kid’s gaze and the adrenaline of carrying a body with him made Len a little bit reckless. Mick would be proud.

“Leonard.”

Barry nodded slowly to himself for a moment. “See ya Lenny.” He grinned before driving off into the night.

Len’s eyebrows shot up. No one called him Lenny but his sister on fear of death, but when Barry said it he only felt warm at the immediate familiarity. It made Len want to lock him in a room and get a little familiar himself.

As he made his way to his current safehouse Barry was on his mind, and it was without guilt or shame that he pulled the younger man’s wallet from his parka pocket and flipped it open. Len’s eyebrows shot up as he looked at Barry’s smiling face looking up at him from a CSI ID badge. For a second Len let himself be distracted by how radiant Barry looked in his photo before he began to chuckle darkly to himself. He’d just helped a badge load a man into his trunk. Something told him that it wasn’t a legal operation.

Len began to flip through the various other forms of ID Barry carried. He’s twenty six, Len mused as he pushed open the door to the derelict looking building. The inside however, whilst sparse was designed for comfort with a plush couch and heavily cushioned armchair greeting him from the living room. He moved past them into the kitchen, dropping Barry’s wallet on his small wooden dining table to pour over later. 

Right now he had only one thing on his mind.

Len stepped into the pantry, moving an inconspicuous box from the corner of the room. Hidden there was a dog eared corner of the carpet that had been laid down and he pulled it back revealing a hidden latch. Len climbed down the stairs and flipped on the light, a metal table piled with light machinery and various tools. 

Behind that table was a chair, and in it a man tightly bound to it by his arms and his feet. He blinked at Len with frightened eyes, how had Len not seen the depth of fear in them before, and swallowed shakily.

“L-len,” He stuttered. “You’re home.”

Len simply raised an eyebrow and moved around the table and sat back on it, arms folded.

“Hartley,” Len sighed and the man’s lips began to quiver. “You don’t sound excited to see me.”

Hartley shook his head desperately. “No! No, I swear I’m so happy you’re here.” His voice caught on a sob he tried to suppress. He knew Leonard didn’t like it when he cried.

Len sighed again in disappointment. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This just _wasn’t right_ anymore. Not now that he’d seen Barry. Barry was right, Len knew he would be. 

“You don’t have to lie to me. I know our feelings for each other have . . . _cooled_.”

Hartley was outright sobbing now, and Len clenched his jaw in annoyance, grabbing a pair of elbow length rubber gloves off of the workbench and putting them on. “Please! Give me another chance. I can do better!”

“I don’t need you to do better.” Len said, moving forward. He moved to the side of the room where there were several canisters lined up against the wall and grabbed one, taking it over to where Hartley was now thrashing against his chair.

“Please! Please!” He begged over and over, trying to retreat as far as his bonds would allow him from Len. 

Ignoring him Len smirked, “I think we need to chill. Take some time to ice things over.”

Without giving the man a chance to say anything else Len forced the tube into his mouth and as far down his throat as Hartley’s flailing would allow, taking glee in the rising panic in his eyes. He turned the nozzle on the canister and listened with pleasure to Hartley’s agonised screams as he choked on liquid nitrogen. 

Len continued working on Hartley long after he was dead, the man’s screams still ringing gloriously in his ears.

***

When Barry entered the precinct the next morning it was nervously sans his ID, later than usual in his search for it. His hands shook at the idea that he may have dropped it on his late night venture, but the thought took a back seat when he saw the buzz that was moving through the main office.

Barry walked over to his adopted father, whose face was pinched in annoyance and concern.

“What’s going on Joe?” He asked, adjusting the strap of his satchel on his shoulder.

Joe sighed, shaking his head. “Some factory workers just found a dismembered body by the docks. Entire top half of the body was frozen solid.”

Barry tried to conceal his excitement with a furrowed brow and a small pout.

“Looks like Captain Cold has struck again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed there weren't any serial killer au's for this ship so I thought, fuck it, I'm shipper trash enough to write this XD. I don't own the characters, only the story line. I hope you aren't too mad about me murdering Hartley. I love him too but I felt for the sake of the fic he had to die. Sorry not sorry :)


	2. Friendly Visits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len finds he can’t stay away from Barry for long, and Barry is stuck between his lust for Captain Cold and the intriguing man who helped him with an abduction.
> 
> Disclaimer: Barry doesn’t have powers in this AU. No one does.
> 
> Trigger Warning - There is violence and some blood in the chapter, so if you have an aversion to things like that the last part of this chapter may no be for you . . . and probably this fic.

Barry was sitting at his desk, but his mind wasn’t on the unidentified fingerprints being scanned into the system. It wasn’t even on the handsome older stranger - Len - who had helped him stuff Tony Woodward into his truck. Reminiscing on that Barry begins to smile to himself, and unable to help it lets out a stray giggle. He was still in awe at the fact that Tony hadn’t recognised him, not even his name was enough of a clue in. Then again, the only names Woodward had ever called Barry weren’t the exactly terms of endearment, and Barry found it ironic that the man he’d seduced into leaving a bar ever had the nerve to call him a ‘faggot’.

But oh did Barry recognise Tony. Well, not so much recognise but spend copious amounts of time hunting him down and finding out everything he could about his social life. Call it naive but Barry wanted his first time to be special. Still, when Barry had re-experienced Tony’s visage it was almost as if the turd monkey hadn’t changed. He was clearly older and juiced to within an inch of his life but it was obvious he was staring at the face of his tormentor.

Barry had spent the next month in agony. He just wanted to _rush_. Wanted to find Tony and destroy him. See his skin fall to ribbons under his fingers and his pretty, pretty blade. But Barry also didn’t spend years hiding his . . . baser desires from his detective father or getting a degree in forensic science to act like a Goddamn idiot.

He had to wait no matter how much his skin itched to _speed_.

Barry was sensible. He saved up to move out of Joe’s house into an apartment near the docks. Perfect access to areas Barry knew were abandoned and isolated. And if the CSI happened to know a certain serial killer who liked dumping in the area, well that was a side bonus.

Captain Cold.

The name sent a luxurious shiver down Barry’s spine.

Captain Cold had turned up about a year ago in a series of unidentified bodies that were in various stages of hypothermia. At first none of the officers believed it was a serial killer, because seriously, this was Central City. But as more bodies dropped and the kills got more . . .  sophisticated, it was undeniable that they were all committed by the same person. And Barry had followed them all, starting with Jake Simmons.

He’d been found by some high school kids screwing around under the pier. This body had been whole and completely frozen, like he’d been locked in a freezer. It was so out of character for Central that Barry was immediately excited to case the scene. At first the CCPD wrote the murder off as a victim of Central’s minimal criminal underground and things soon returned to their monotonous ritual. Corner store robbery, stolen laptop, upper city mugging. Barry had to resist beating himself into a coma simply for something new to do.

Then the second body turned up and Barry got excited once more. This body had been frozen too, but from the inside out and oh wasn’t that interesting. Roscoe Dillion. He’d worked the carousel at a fair, and was clearly not involved with the mob. The whispers of a serial killer amongst the CCPD made Barry bite his lip in excitement, and as body after frozen and dismembered body showed up, Barry grew more and more invested in the man known as Captain Cold. He’d even trampled pieces of evidence under the noses of his superiors to aid the John Doe.

Just thinking about it made Barry begin to tremble in anticipation, and he had to thumb the small switchblade he kept in his pocket to calm down.

“Interesting line of work Kid.”

Barry jumped at the voice behind him, annoyed at himself for letting his musings distract him so thoroughly. “Son of a butternut squash!” He whirled to the sight of his heavy lifting hero. Barry’s mouth flapped in a vague imitation of a beached fish as he tried to find words, panic mounting in his throat.

“You’ll catch flies, Kid,” Len smirked, pushing off the door frame and sauntering towards Barry’s desk. The younger man jumped up and took a step back.

“What, uh, what are you doing in here? In my workplace? I mean, how do you even know where I work?” Barry hissed, eyes wide as he prayed that no one came looking for the backlog of reports on his desk that he really needed to take care of.

“You dropped this.” Barry was certain he looked comical as the size of his eyes grew further at the sight of his CSI badge brandished between Len’s fingers. “You really need to be more careful Kid.”

The sight of Leonard’s smirk sent an unexpected tingle through the younger man, the initial shock and fear turning to excitement at his presence, the risk of his being there a reminder of the previous night.

When Len had first shown up Barry was filled with fury. His first outing and he’d already fucked up. As the older man had approached, Barry had played the bumbling newbie waiting for the right moment to go for the blade he’d had stashed in his pocket, but then he’d offered to help, and if that didn’t intrigue him then Barry didn’t know what would.

“Why do I need to be careful if I’ve got you?” Barry gave a smirk of his own, even as he felt the blush creep up his neck at his boldness. Len raised his brow at the CSI’s shift in attitude, attracted to the growing flush to the younger man’s skin, and Barry could see the twinkle of pleasure in his steely grey eyes.

“And what makes you think you’ve got me, Scarlett?”

“Would you be here holding my badge if I didn’t?” Barry plucked the badge from between Len’s fingers, surprised by their coolness, unable to resist brushing his fingers against the older man’s palm for a lingering moment.

Len inhaled at the contact, his pupils dilating.

“Maybe I’m just a Good Samaritan, here to rescue the damsel in distress once more.” The older man crossed his arms, smirking in an attempt to hide his reaction to Barry’s touch.

“ _That_ would make _you_ my knight in shining armour.” Barry sat, legs wide open, feeling his confidence rise at Len’s poorly concealed response. The sight of his pupils dwarfing grey iris’ the colour of Barry’s favourite blade made him want see them close up, preferably in the throes of pleasure or bright with pain. Barry wasn’t sure which he would prefer.

Len stepped between Barry’s legs and leant close, gripping the edge of Barry’s work station, effectively caging the younger man. Barry nearly groaned at the proximity, inhaling the scent of leather and something Barry could only describe as _cool_ , almost like menthol.

“That, Scarlett, is something I most certainly am not.”

Barry bit his lip and Len seemed to lean into him for a moment before pulling away, breaking the heavy atmosphere. “Speaking of which, how’s your . . . house guest.”

Barry thought of Tony Woodward, strapped to metal surgery table in the basement of a recently abandoned warehouse. He’d just been coming to when Barry had left the night before and by now he was sure to be screaming. Barry hoped his voice wouldn’t be too sore to perform tonight. He’d always appreciated a vocal partner.

“I’d like to think he’s made himself comfortable,” Barry answered finally, “but he’s leaving tonight.”

Len’s answering smile held something dark within it, and Barry was sure his sunny grin had the same sinister tint to it.

“Well.” Len began to back out of the room. “I hope he has a great time.” The older man turned then, striding confidently out of the room and Barry had to talk himself out of following.

The ping of his computer let him know the fingerprints had finished running and come up with matches, providing the perfect distraction. As he printed the files to add to the corresponding reports Barry realised that he had no way to get back in touch with Len . . . except. His eyes drifted to his badge, sitting enticingly on his desk.

The badge that Len had returned and touched with his own hands.

Barry bit his lip and glanced at his computer. It would be no hardship to dust the item and see if he could glean just a little bit of information from the system, _after all_ , Barry thought, _Len knows where I work and what my name is. This just makes us even_.

Barry grinned, picking up the newly finished reports to deliver downstairs to prevent anyone coming up to look for them while he accomplished his task. It was shaping up to be an interesting afternoon.

* * *

 

As Barry descended the stairs of the warehouse he suddenly wished he’d worn more than just a button up and a cardigan, feeling the chill of being so deep underground. When he reached the landing of the third basement floor Barry began to hear the shouting.

“Get me out of here you fucker!” Barry winced at the harsh language, faltering a moment. He could see the bolted door to the room that held Tony; he hadn’t bothered locking it knowing no one would be able to hear Tony this deep in the building and had faith enough in his restraints to know that Tony would be unable to escape. Plus, if Barry was being completely honest with himself, he liked the added risk of leaving the door open.

He entered the room so quietly it took a moment for Tony to realise he was no longer alone, but when he did Tony’s rage seemed to increase tenfold.

“You son of a bitch!-” Tony began to thrash “-I’ll fucking kill you!”

Barry shook his head as Tony continued to curse and holler abuse at him. He could never understand what made people resort to such foul language. He could just never see a need for it. _Well_ , Barry consoled himself _, he probably won’t be saying much of anything when I get started_.

There was a metal bench tucked into the back corner of the long concrete room covered with a sheet and Barry moved over to it, removing his cardigan as he went. He placed it on a hook next to the bench, swapping it for an apron that covered his entire front; Barry was going to need it.

As he wheeled the bench over to the table Tony seemed to zero in on him, finally laying still.

“Bet you think you’re so tough, huh,” He taunted, “Got me strapped down so you can act all big, but you look like you were born to take a beating.”

Barry stopped, frozen. That phrase had been bane of his existence as a teen, and he began to tremble with supressed rage at the nerve Tony had to repeat it whilst he was completely incapacitated.

At Barry’s sudden pause Tony stupidly believed he had gotten to the younger man.

“Yeah,” Tony gloated, a smug grin on his face “That’s what I thought bitch!”

Barry took a deep breath to regain some control before he removed the sheet, revealing his knife collection, laying it on a lower shelf. He took a moment to admire the array of knives of all shapes and sizes, running his finger along a few. His eyes drifted back to Tony and were satisfied to see the growing fear in his bully’s eyes, finally realised the danger he was in, before moving to stand above the larger man’s head.

“Do you know who I am?” Barry asked as he reached down to stroke down Tony’s throat, admiring the rapidly pulsating vein.

“You fucking psycho!” Tony jerked his head in an attempt to escape Barry’s caress. “No I don’t fucking know you!” He spat.

Barry’s grin was deceptively innocent. “You will.” He replied before moving back to his tools, plucking a delicate looking blade from the selection and turning to focus on his new toy, ignoring Tony’s shouts of rage.

* * *

 

Tony let out another horse cry, his voice tiring in the hour since Barry had begun his work, but that was fine because he wasn’t swearing anymore. The larger man’s chest was covered in slashes, few of which had clotted over, and even several stab wounds that were slowly weeping dark blood. As a CSI, Barry knew which areas to avoid allowing him to draw out his fun. About 20 minutes in, long after Barry had cut off Tony’s shirt, the larger man had begun to weep when Barry had pushed a steel blade deep into his side.

Barry took a deep breath, placing his current tool back onto the bench and took a step back to admire his work, trembling. He’d never imagined it would feel like this, his body humming with adrenaline, the little nagging feeling in the back of his mind finally silent.

“Why are you doing this?” Tony’s choked voice drew Barry’s attention and he looked to the larger man’s face. He had had his fun with that too, several deep cuts marring his already mediocre looks.

“Do you know who I am yet?” Barry panted, not out of exhaustion but with energy.

Tony closed his eyes and let out a sob, shaking his head.

“You made my life hell.” Barry conceded. “You used to beat me up, and trash my locker, and-“Barry covered his face with his hands, chuckling one to himself, “-you called me a ‘fag’. Seriously?!”

Tony was now staring at Barry with horror and recognition, because yes, now that Barry was speaking he could practically see the young creep he’d tormented.

Barry looked up and smiled with glee at Tony’s recognition.

“But,” Barry stepped up to Tony’s head again, stroking his sweaty hair back from his blood and tear streaked face. “Let’s be honest. I would be doing this even if you hadn’t bullied me, it just might not have been you. Really teaches you a lesson about bullying doesn’t it?” Barry’s grin was bright and Tony began to shake his head back and forth.

“I knew you were sick. I knew it!” He spat. “First your father and now you! You’re both fucking sick!”

As Tony had been speaking, Barry’s mirth had slid from his face into a stony mask of displeasure. He reached to his bench and picked up a small precise scalpel and Tony’s jaw shut with an audible click, realising his words had not been picked wisely.

Barry rested the tip of his blade in the hollow of Tony’s throat, and Tony knew that there was no way he could move or retreat without slicing his own throat open. He began to tremble as Barry leaned down and touched his lips to Tony’s ear.

“You were never very smart. My father is not sick.” He whispered forcefully, “He can’t be because he didn’t kill my mother.” With that Barry sank his blade into Tony’s neck, and the man gasped in surprise and pain before he started to choke on the blood filling up in his throat.

Barry stood and looked into Tony’s now dead eyes as his lifeblood spilled onto the metal table.

“I did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun, dun, duuuuuunnnnnnnn!
> 
> I know a lot of people were a little concerned I abandoned the story, but fear not! I'd simply signed up to a Coldflash Big Bang, so I've done a lot of work for this fic. I'll be doing a serialised posting of it but I will go down with this ship! Hope you enjoyed this chapter.


	3. Crushing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony’s murder stumps Central City’s finest, and Lisa is concerned about her older brother because stupidity is the number one cause of death.

 That night, after a long shower, Barry had the best sleep he’d had in years. However, the price of such relaxation was running later than usual for work and having to skip his morning coffee.

Barry ran into the precinct and had one foot on the stairs when his name was called.

“Allen!”

 He turned to see a very angry Captain Singh and painted a chagrined expression on his face.

 “Glad you could grace us with your presence.” As Barry opened his mouth to fake an apology Singh cut him off. “Save it. Get down to the West docks and _do your job_ \- while you still have it.”

 Barry bit his tongue to stave off a sarcastic comment, nodding his head and looking contrite as he peeled out of the precinct less than five minutes from when he’d peeled in.

 It took him 15 minutes to get to the docks, an anticipatory shiver drifting down his spine, because he knew exactly what case he would be working.

 As he neared the crime scene he could sense the tension radiating off of the officers that always came with a murder scene. This was Central City after all, and casual murder wasn’t something they were used to despite Captain Cold’s presence.

 Barry pushed through the small crowd milling near the crime scene, flashing his badge to the officer on duty and ducking under the tape.

 “Barry!” Joe waved from next to a shipping crate, gesturing for the younger man to follow him. There, surrounded by garbage and tubing, was a half-naked body covered in gashes and stab wounds and Barry’s heart began to pound.

 Feeling Joe’s eyes on him, Barry took a ‘calming’ breath before kneeling next to the body and opening his briefcase.

 “One of the dock workers found him on his way into work this morning.” Barry nodded to show he was listening.

 “Well whoever did this is long gone; the body’s cold. No sign of defensive wounds so he must’ve been caught by surprise. Not a lot of blood so this probably wasn’t done here.” Barry stood. “Anything more about the body would have to come from the coroner.”

 A glance at Joe showed he was taking notes and Barry moved off to hide a smirk under the guise of looking for more evidence.

 “I’m not seeing any tire treads. The perp must have carried the body in and covered his tracks on the way out. I’ll dust around, see if I can find some trace evidence but you’d be better off looking for a witness and trying to ID the body.”

Joe nodded pensively, patting Barry’s shoulder in gratitude.

“You still coming over for family dinner on Friday?”

 “Wouldn’t miss it!” _Keep your enemy close,_ Barry thought as he grinned guilelessly at his adopted father.

* * *

 

 Barry stretched until he felt the bones in his back pop and pushed away from his work bench. Upon looking at the evidence it was clear that the perp was no dunce. What Barry had was vague at best. A smattering of a strange dust that had turned out to be iron grains, impossible to place as it could have come from any number of shipping crates, and a few drops of blood belonging to the victim leading further into the docks, giving no clue as to where or who committed the murder.

 With a sigh Barry decided to break for lunch. It was clear he wasn’t going to get anywhere, and he still had yet to make a true dent in his pile of outgoing cases. If he had to listen to Captain Singh rant at him about punctuality once more he may have to do more than bite his tongue to keep himself at bay.

 Barry took a deep breath at the flash of rage and bloodthirst that pounded in the back of his minds at the thought of the captain. It would do no good to lose his cool and do something stupid after going through so much effort to create such a clever and useful cover of an adorkable CSI without a vicious bone in his body.

As Barry jogged down the stairs to the break room he smirked to himself at the notion.

 The breakroom had several officers in it already, and Barry stood in the short line to pour himself some mediocre coffee. In front of him was one of the officers who had been on scene at the docks, Brenner, talking to another officer whose name Barry didn’t care to remember but knew often worked desk duty.

“Man, this place is turning into a mad town.”

 “Tell me about it,” Brenner replied, “First Captain Cold, and now this? What are we, Starling City?”

 The desk officer chuckled at that, reaching to pour his coffee. _If we were Starling City this place might actually be interesting_ , Barry smirked to himself.

 After he’d got his caffeine fix Barry left the break room, the idea of socialising practically repulsive. So of course he’s accosted by Joe before he can get up the stairs to his lab.

 “Hey! I got an ID on our vic.” Barry shaped his face into some form of interest as Joe fell into step beside him. “Tony Woodward.”

 Barry was tempted to gasp dramatically, for his own amusement, but instead pretended to think on the name.

“Tony Woodward?” He parroted. “That name sounds familiar for some reason.”

 “Well, his file says he went to Central City Junior High School. He’s about your age; was probably in one of your classes.”

 Joe’s logic was accurate, but Barry found it laughable that the older detective who so prided himself on his instincts had forgotten Barry’s childhood tormenter so readily. Then again, Barry had made sure, even then, to keep Joe at a distance from anything that may have hinted at his baser desires, and that counted his lust for Tony’s blood even then.

“Well, whatever it is doesn’t explain who killed him.”

 Joe nodded in agreement. “Well, between the two of us, I’m sure we can catch the sicko that did this,” Joe sighed, “Let’s just hope this is his last body.”

 Barry smiled at Joe’s retreating back. _Oh no,_ he thought _, not by a long shot. He’s just getting started._

* * *

 

 Len was pacing. He needed to pace. If he didn’t pace he knew he would start counting. And if Len started counting then he knew he would space out, and that wasn’t an option. He had once spaced so entirely that he’d lost 6 hours of time sitting on a pier counting first the birds, and then his breaths and had nearly gotten hypothermia.

So pacing it was.

Pacing kept him from walking back into CCPD and laying claim to one Bartholomew Allen.

 Just the thought of the Kid’s wide eyed fear, which had nearly sent Len into a frenzy; Barry should never be afraid of Len, which had then turned into that cocky little smirk that held a hint of innocence, almost naiveté, despite Len’s knowledge of his darker side.

It was a concentrated effort not to get hard.

 In fact, Len was concentrating so hard he didn’t hear his front door open. If he had he might have reached for his gun. Whilst he wasn’t fond of them, he felt it was a necessary evil for his line of work. A man couldn’t spend all his time babysitting what was his, so Len filled the time with heists and small electricians business he ran with Mick to cover his income and taxes.

“Jesus Lenny.”

Len stopped short at his sister’s voice and let out a deep sigh.

“I don’t recall giving you a key.”

Lisa scoffed as she breezed past Len, grocery bag in hand. “As if I need one.”

 “Well, without one you’re a trespasser.” Len snarked, following his meddling sister, into _his_ kitchen, who was now in his pantry.

 “My dear brother, are you saying you don’t want me here?” Len could practically hear the pout in Lisa’s voice and rolled his eyes.

“Of course not. By all means Lise, intrude away.”

 Lisa emerged then, frowning playfully. “Clearly someone has to. You were _pacing_ Lenny.” She leant on the island across from Len. “What is it that’s broken your brain this time?”

“Not a what, a who.”

 Lisa sat up at that, her frown deepening into something serious and Len’s lips twitched into a smirk.

“You look worried.”

Lisa floundered for a moment before she turned away, busying herself with starting dinner.

“I’m not worried, but you just . . . _broke up_ with Hartley.”

 Len sighed. Lisa never approved of his relationships. She felt he was too forward, but Len was of the firm belief that nothing good ever comes to those who wait. You had to _take it_.

“It wasn’t working out. This one will.”

 Lisa gave him a look that was almost nervous before going back to her task. She tried not to show her discomfort at the idea of her brother being enamoured with someone else. In the past year he had had 6 different  . . . distractions.

 Lisa loved her brother dearly. In their youth he was often the only thing standing between her and Lewis’ fist or the occasional broken bottle for stepping out of line. After prison Lewis had gotten angry if anything fell out of line with his idea of perfection. If Lisa or Len didn’t get good grades; if either of his kids showed anything even approaching insubordination; if he failed to score on a heist (which was often).

 However, something in that time had broken Len. She knew that sometimes killing was a necessity, it was just part of the life they lived, but she also knew that what Len _did_ to those men, to those who fell under his list of things that were _his_ to keep, was not right. Now it was Lenny who couldn’t cope if things didn’t fall into his ideal.

 But no one could ever fault Lisa for her loyalty so she stood by him. She owed him, and even still she believed her brother wasn’t a bad person.

 “He’s like me.” Len sat at the island and rested his head on his hand, _not longing_ , he insisted to himself, _simply admiring . . . from a distance_.

_That was new_ , Lisa thought.

 “Like you, Lenny?” Lisa placed a plate of spaghetti bolognese and spinach salad in front of her brother, ignoring his grimace. “Green vegetables are good for the body. Answer the question while I pour the wine.”

_What the heck_ , Len thought. He knew how to make use of a good asset, and Lisa was more than lucky in the romance department. Plus, telling her now kept her from future meddling.

By the end of dinner Lisa was stunned.

“A-a body? You helped him move a _body_?”

Len simply smirked.

 Lisa took a deep breath before deciding that she needed to open another bottle of wine. This was a new development in her brother’s ‘love life’. Never before had he been enamoured with someone who may just get his brand of devotion and understand who he was. Lisa needed this to work if her brother was ever actually gonna find love, and for it to work she was gonna have to get involved.

“Okay little brother –“

“I’m older than you!”

 “That’s beside the point -“ Lisa waved a hand as if batting away Len’s statement. “-I’m wiser. Now, what do you know about him?”

“Besides the fact that he enjoys kidnapping in his spare time?”

Lisa raised a solitary brow.

 Len sighed, “Not much. We haven’t really had much chance for talking about . . . normal things.”

 “There’s your problem,” Lisa said, nodding, “You don’t know anything about him. You know, usually when you like and _obsess_ about someone, that part’s out of the way.”

 Len glared at his sister, but couldn’t deny that she was right. As much as he knew Barry belonged to him, he didn’t really know _Barry_. That needed to be fixed. It wasn’t _right_ that Len knew nothing about him.

“Point taken.”

Lisa’s smile was smug. “I think you should-“

“I think I’ve got it from here. Thanks for the talk.”

Lisa nodded, understanding that she’d get no more from her brother today. “Next time don’t wait for me to break in.”

Len stood from the table, grabbing their dinner plates as he went.

“So,” Lisa started, wine glass in hand. “Can I at least get his name?”

“No.”

 “Tease.” Lisa sighed, bringing her now empty glass to the sink and kissing her brother on the cheek. “Don’t spend all night obsessing and try not to fuck this up.” She said firmly before making her way out of her brother’s home.

 When he was finished the dishes Len walked out of the kitchen. Unlike his safe house, Len’s home was decorated for comfort. His living room held a long L shaped sofa sat in front of a high tech stereo system linked to his flat screen. In the corner, almost unnoticeable, was a desk covered in schematics and the like, and in the middle was his personal computer.

If all went to plan Len made a mental note to steal something pretty for Lisa in thanks. _Now_ , he thought, _to_ know _Barry Allen_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really enjoying this story and I hope you guys are too. I've decided to post weekly for now, but we'll see if that gets changed. Thank you guys so much for the support! Happy reading.


	4. It's All Coming Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len gets to know Barry that much better, and Barry is surprised to find that his itch comes back much quicker than he thought it would, but that’s okay because he has a handsome older gentleman to keep him distracted with gifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It clearly changed. D: I’m terrible, truly. Instead of any promised I’m just gonna say I see you when I see you, hopefully that’s sooner than last time. Hehe.
> 
> Song’s used for this chap:  
> The Weeknd – Often  
> The Weeknd – Wicked Games  
> FKA Twigs – Two Weeks  
> Beyonce - Drunk in Love
> 
> Also, the fantastic playlist made for this fic by Drownedinlight  
> (http://archiveofourown.org/users/Drownedinlight/works)  
> (https://open.spotify.com/user/1214316857/playlist/1nsmzTRmIObqdpiRiNmykG)  
> You have her to thank for this chapter. Seriously, check it out. It’s awesome to read the fic to.

 Of course, Len surmised, in order to get to know someone you have to go straight to the source.

So logically he broke into Barry’s apartment.

 It was no large task to find the CSI’s address and organise a visit. In fact, Len made a mental note to let the younger man know that he should really install decent locks on his fire escape windows.

 As Len stood looking around Barry’s living room all he could think was, _a true bachelor_. There was a pizza box and empty cans of soda strewn across the coffee table in front of what seemed to be a decent set up for someone on an officer’s pay role, complete with some game console, though Len never cared to invest in one himself. The kitchen was separated by an island and a glance showed a hazardous pile of dishes in the sink and an equally horrifying pile of takeout containers on the work surfaces.

_This won’t do_ , Len sighed in frustration, _this just won’t do_.

 Len clenched his fists tight and closed his eyes. He refused to let his . . . _tick_ take control now. He needed to focus on acquiring information.

 Making his way over to the coffee table Len began to sift through the magazines that sat on its surface, keeping his eyes from drifting to the mess around him. _Science, science, gaming, science_. It seemed to Len that the object of his desire was a huge nerd.

 Flipping through the top magazine, something to do with theoretical physics and particle accelerators, Len noticed quick little scribbles in some of the margins. _Kid’s definitely smart_.

 Dropping the magazine he made his way to the kitchen and tried not to wince as his shoe stuck to one of the tiles. _Not right, Not RIGHT_ \- a few deep breaths later and Len told himself he was in control, though the crawling under his skin told him he was a goddamn liar. There were a few pictures stuck on the fridge, one of what was clearly a young Barry at some sort of science fair, an older but still young Barry with a stunning woman with flawless skin and a bright earnest smile, and lastly the Barry that Len knew in what he recognised as his lab with a black detective perhaps a decade or so older that Len. Len noted that there were no pictures of Barry’s parents.

For the sake of his sanity he ended his look in the kitchen quickly.

 Len moved through Barry’s bathroom, noting the generic brand of soap and shampoo the younger man used, his toilet paper brand and aftershave (which Len would never admit to smelling and then stealing). What Len also noticed was the bathroom rugs, and remembered when Lisa forced him to buy some. A decidedly feminine touch that showed a woman in Barry’s life, perhaps the dark haired woman in the picture. Clearly the two were close, and it set Len’s teeth on edge that she had enough access to Barry’s life that she could enforce décor upon him.

 There was a door on the left that Len had yet to enter; Barry’s bedroom, and he felt anticipation tingle down his spine. He was about to enter Barry’s domain. The place Barry slept and dressed and lived.

 Len pushed the half open door to reveal the disaster zone that was Barry’s bedroom. His hands began to shake once more at the _inappropriate_ state of the room, and Len took a deep breath, freezing at the room’s fragrance. It was something that he had noticed in the apartment but couldn’t identify until now. It smelt of metal and rain, and underneath it all something that was uniquely Barry. The only thing Len could think to compare it to was blood, and if that didn’t make Len shiver in want.

 The floor was a hazardous mine of clothes, shoes and books, but Len noticed that a vague path had been forged between the bed, the door and the closet. He took a hesitant step into the room, then another and soon he was standing by Barry’s bed. The bedside table was bare, save for a lamp and an old alarm clock that looked like it was one hit from being old news. But Len didn’t care what was on the table, only what was in it. That would tell a much better story about Barry Allen.

 Lube, condoms, a vibrator that Len envied, and most surprisingly a small digital camera. Len couldn’t help but imagine what was on it. Just the thought of Barry bringing himself to pleasure in this room with these items had Len’s eyes glossing over and his cock hardening, so much so that he almost missed a final object in the drawer. He reached into the back of the drawer and pulled out a simple picture of a man and woman. They were sitting at the breakfast table, the woman’s head thrown back in laughter, and Len could see that she was radiant if not exactly to his tastes. The man in the photo, who Len felt could only be described as traditionally handsome, had eyes only for her. There was writing on the back of the picture, faded but still readable; _Henry and Nora Allen_.

_Now isn’t that curious,_ Len thought. This was the only picture Len had seen of anyone who could be of direct blood relation to Barry, but the picture was tucked deep in the back of his bedside table. _Almost as if he were ashamed of it_ , Len pondered.

 Len figured that was enough for one day. He felt he had sufficient information on Barry to use for further pursuit of the younger man. He’d made it half way to the door when he hesitated, turning back to the dishevelled bed. The bed that Barry slept on.

 Len’s jaw clenched and unclenched as he tried to talk himself out of doing something stupid. This was meant to be a covert exploration of his – of _Barry’s_ home, so Len was frustrated as he was unable to stop himself from walking back over to Barry’s bed. He looked down at the red cotton sheets and ran a hand over the wrinkled surface before impulse drove him to lean closer and inhale the scent that had been teasing him from the moment he’d stepped into the room.

 Groaning at the heady scent of Barry, Len felt his cock stir once more. He panted, his forehead coming to rest on the mattress, unable to find the will to stand up. Len was unsure of how long he remained in this position breathing in Barry’s aroma, a sign of just how lost he was in the younger man’s scent, all he knew was that his cock had turned to steel and that he had to possess the CSI soon.

 Len soon realised he was fighting a losing battle as he climbed into the younger man’s bed lay himself in the centre, groaning as Barry’s musk surrounded him. Len mentally cursed himself at the weakness he was displaying, a weakness he had previously thought beneath him, before remembering he was alone and transitioning to cursing himself aloud. _Well I’m here now_ , he thought, acutely aware of his aching cock.

 He ran a hand down his clothed chest to the hem of his jeans, before running them back up, taking his shirt with it. Len took a moment to tease his nipples, imagining Barry’s slender hands making them pebble against his fingertips. Keeping up his ministrations Len slowly undid his belt with one hand and popped the button on his jeans. He could feel his cock straining against his underwear, spurred on by the phantom image of Barry hovering above him and the smell of the younger man surrounding him. Len was sure that if he looked down he’d see his precum staining the fabric.

 He gripped himself, imaging it was Barry’s hand he was thrusting into and groaned, but it wasn’t enough – he needed more! Bracing his feet on the bed Len pushed down his underwear, his cock slapping against his stomach. Len wrapped his hand around the purple swollen head of his dick and jerked it, biting his lip at the sensation. He stroked slowly, the rough feel of his dry palm making him groan in sweet agony, but it wasn’t _right_. Barry’s hands weren’t rough, Len was sure from that brief moment their hands had met when Barry had taken back his ID card.

 Not one to waste a resource, Len reached over to the bedside table and opened the drawer grabbing the lube before pausing.

 Barry’s camera sat, almost inviting Len to explore its contents. He took a deep breath at the spike of arousal.

 Len took the camera out and rested it on the bed, before reaching back in for the lube. He squirted some into his palm and dropped the bottle on the bed before grabbing his cock once more, slicking himself up.

_There, more like Barry_. He’d make sure Len was nice and wet.

 The phantom image and feel of the younger man was almost tangible under the slick slide of a hand tugging and pulling at his cock. Len let a finger slide down the vein on the underside of his cock and shuddered. What Len craved more than anything was the feel of Barry’s lips on him now, but the phantom teased Len from the underside of his eyelids, dancing away from his mouth despite the vulgar movements on his member.

 Len soon had himself panting at the feel of Barry’s – his – hand on his throbbing cock. Len jerked his hand up and down his shaft, occasionally letting his hand to drift down to fondle his balls. But as he – Barry - stroked his cock a thought kept nagging at the back of his mind, growing louder and louder. A want that kept Len from the release he craved in _his_ Barry’s bed.

_Camera. Camera. Camera._

 Len opened his eyes and looked to the left of himself, where he’d rested the offending item. Smirking to himself he picked it up and turned it on. Through its lens Len could see his swollen cock, practically throbbing with want, and suddenly Len knew what he wanted. He’d save the contents for another time, a time in which Barry would show them to him himself. No, Len would instead leave a gift.

 The second the record button lit up Len could feel himself harden further in his hand. Letting his head fall back the older man groaned and resumed his movements under the watchful eye of the camera, and Barry danced back into his vision.

 “Ungh, you like that kid? You like what you’re doing to me?” Len couldn’t help but let the words tumble from his lips, and Barry, his phantom torment, blushed that gorgeous red again.

 Unable to stop himself, even if he wanted to, Len began to thrust into his slick palm, his balls tightening against his body.

 “A-ah! Barry.” The name was almost a sigh, and suddenly Len was cumming over his stomach, still exposed from when he’d pushed his shirt up. He felt the hot splatters land and groaned in satisfaction, cock still twitching in his hand.

 It took a moment for Len to remember the camera, and when he let out a deep chuckle and stopped the video.

 As his breathing returned to normal Len began to think. He’d already screwed his ‘covert’ operation, but couldn’t find a reason to be mad at it. Barry would understand – would be pleased to find evidence of Len in his home.

Barry was _his_ after all.

They were perfect for each other. So, Len surmised, I’m already in this deep. No point in hiding now. Len smiled to himself once more, his brain already creating an updated plan for the day. He put the camera aside and got up to go clean himself and begin phase two.

* * *

 For a moment Barry couldn’t put his finger on what it was that was different about his apartment. He’d just gotten home from another mind numbing day at work, but the minute he’d stepped in he knew something was out of place. It wasn’t possible that someone he knew had been by without his knowledge or consent. Barry had flat out refused to give a key to either Iris or Joe, stating that he’d ‘wanted his space’, which wasn’t wholly a lie, just not for the reasons they’d assumed. The only explanation was a burglary, but Barry was a CSI, and he couldn’t see a single thing that indicated he’d been robbed.

 Barry stepped further into his home, and frowned suddenly. Was that lemon he could smell? The younger man looked over to his kitchen and his eyes widened with realisation; it had been cleaned. Gone were the containers that Barry swore he was going to move. Barry’s eyes roamed over his apartment with fresh eyes. Now that he knew what he was looking for it was obvious. Every surface that had once been cluttered had now been cleaned, his magazines even piled neatly on his coffee table.

Someone had broken in and . . . cleaned?

 The thought of someone being in his home and doing something so intimate left Barry unnerved . . . and furious. He felt bloodlust well in his throat like bile as he stared at his _clean_ apartment. Just who had been in here?

 Then Barry’s head snapped to his closed bedroom door he knew he had not left that way, eyes squinted as he registered the sound he swore he’d just heard. Barry’s fists clenched as he stalked to his bedroom, drawing his trusty switch blade, and threw open the door.

 Barry was practically panting. Clean! But nothing. No sign of what, or who, he’d heard. But there, in the middle of his newly made bed, was his camera. Now, under his mounting rage, was a curiosity. Barry could admit to himself that part of his rage wasn’t related to this mystery; it had been nearly three weeks since Tony, and he could feel that like an itch under his skin. It had come back sooner than he thought it would and that frustrated him.

 It had also been nearly three weeks since he’d seen Len. Another source of frustration.

 Barry’s fingerprint scan had returned no results, though he had foolishly hoped it would, but then again it wouldn’t have given a good impression to have the only representation of a like-minded soul to be sloppy enough to have priors. Still, it meant Barry had nothing to go on; nothing to track down the older man the way he’d been tracked.

 Barry’s thought process stopped. It was true that Len had tracked him to his job. Would it really have been so hard to track him to his home? As a CSI Barry knew that it wasn’t. And suddenly he was viewing his home with new eyes.

Was this Len?

 The idea that the man who been so intriguing, who been teasing Barry’s thoughts at a rate that rivalled his infatuation with Captain Cold, had been in Barry’s apartment. Had become intimately acquainted with it. Had taken the care to humble it and return it to the state that had come before his mind had been refilled with thoughts of blood and steel. Well, that was enough to turn Barry to marble inside his pants.

 And there sat Barry’s camera, now teasing him with the idea that Len had touched it. Had been inside it and seen some of Barry’s most naked moments. He wanted to carve those moments from Len’s mind and see them for himself in person. Barry approached his bed and took up his camera, and was surprised to see a slip of white paper underneath it. He took up the slip and unfolded it, greeted by a simple message.

_Get better locks on your windows. I’ll see you soon. ~ L_

 That was all it took to confirm it. Barry’s mouth split in a gleeful grin, one that was usually taken by others as _naïve_ or _innocent_ , but was full of a want for things regular people couldn’t handle. Barry twisted on his feet and collapsed onto his bed, back first, camera and note still in hand. See you soon, it had said. Barry flung an arm over his eyes and laughed out loud. Soon was too vague! He wanted to see Len now.

 Barry’s fingers unconsciously flexed around the camera, as if trying to remind him of its presence. Not quite what he wanted but it would have to do. He removed his arm from his face and cupped the camera in both of his hands, as though it were precious, because at this moment it was. Barry turned it on and brought up the gallery.

 His mouth flopped open, going dry. In the most recent slot was an image he definitely didn’t make. A still of a swollen and purpled cock greeted him, thick and long in a way that made Barry’s asshole clench in longing, and his dick swell in anticipation. With a shaking finger he pushed the play button, and was immediately assaulted with the filthy slick sounds of Len jerking off and panting.

Then he spoke.

_“Ungh, you like that kid? You like what you’re doing to me?”_

 Barry bit his lip, a whimper escaping him. He did like it; felt powerful in knowing that he had unknowingly caused this. That he was in Len’s thoughts in this moment. Then Len began to thrust in his fist, grunts and pants teasing through the camera’s screen. Barry’s own hips began to twitch in need, hard as stone in his now too tight pants. From the camera Barry heard Len’s voice hitch and then he came. With Barry’s name on his lips Len sullied his stomach with spend and Barry wanted to lick it up.

 After a moment Len chuckled, and Barry groaned at the deep satisfied sound of it, then the screen went still. Barry was panting, though he’d yet to do anything. Dropping the camera on the bed he pushed himself backwards using his elbows until he was in reach of his bedside table and grabbed the lube Len had undoubtedly used, which made Barry moan.

 He practically tore his shirt off before roughly shoving down his jeans and underwear, kicking them off the bed. Naked, the younger man flopped onto his stomach, settling on his knees, and reached back for the camera, resting it in front of his face. Barry set the video on a loop before grabbing the lube once more.

_“Ungh, you like that kid-”_

 Barry groaned as he rubbed a slick finger between his cheeks, teasing the cleft there, and to the sound of Len’s groans Barry caught that finger on his rim and eased it in. He bit his lip at the intrusion, pushing his ass back against it, but it still wasn’t enough. To the growing crescendo of Len’s coming orgasm Barry pushed another slick finger into his ass.

_“A-ah! Barry.”_

 “Ugh, Len!” Barry replied, wanting something other than his own fingers in his ass. Then came that fudging chuckle. Barry was sure that would taunt him until he saw Len next. It held promise of filth and sacrilege. And then the video began again.

_“-You like what you’re doing to me?”_

 “Yes, yes! Oh, yes!” Barry rambled as he rutted against his fingers, twisting and curling them jerkily inside himself, nearly desperate with his lust. A high keen escaped him as his fingers brushed against his prostate. Barry pressed his face into his duvet, blocking out everything but the feeling of his fingers in his ass and the sound of Len getting off on his camera in his bed, and slid another slick finger into himself.

 He hissed at the slight burn but it turned into a moan as he heard Len come once more, his name a sigh on the older man’s lips.

“Len,” He whined as he scissored his fingers, the extra burn making his toes curl.

_“Ungh, you like that kid-“_

 “Len!” Unable to hold out any longer Barry reached an arm down and fisted his sure to be weeping, neglected cock.

_“- You like what you’re doing to me?”_

 “Please.” Barry pressed his face harder into the mattress, his lungs growing desperate to get a breath of fresh air, but that just added to the intensity of the experience.

The rough dry feel of his hand on his cock, the slick feel of fingers in his ass massaging his prostate, the growing feeling of breathlessness, and the obscene sounds of Len as he neared his finish once more.

It was all too much.

_“A-ah! Barry.”_

 Barry let out a hoarse cry and suddenly he was cumming all over his fresh sheets. For a moment Barry was sure he’d blacked out from the pleasure of it. He wrenched his face out of the sheets, greedily sucking in air, just in time to witness Len’s god darn chuckle and the sight of his cum splattered chest and cock.

 Slowly Barry pulled his fingers out of his ass and let himself collapse onto the bed and catch his breath, the sounds of Len jerking of beginning anew. And then Barry began to laugh. A feeling of calm slowly settled over him in the aftermath of his impromptu session, courtesy of Len, and he couldn’t help but laugh at the sudden serenity of it.

 This feeling followed him as he wiped his hand on his already stained sheets and turned off his camera, returning it to its rightful place. It followed him as he changed said sheets and put them in the hamper. It was there as he showered, not even caring that his aftershave was missing, and put on his most comfortable sweat pants and fuzzy socks. The feeling followed him as he cooked a meal for himself for the first time in almost a week. And as Barry finally settled down in bed that night he was able to identify the feeling for what it was.

For the first time since that nagging sensation at the back of his neck had returned, the one that told him to rush, and slice and cut deep, he was calm. He could concentrate. He could rest without a longing for the echo of Tony screams to lull him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s kinda hard to right a masturbation scene about dicks when you don’t have one, but I think I did it justice. What do you think? How would you react to Len’s gift to Barry?
> 
> Thank you for your continued support. Even though I haven't updated in a while I still get kudos in my inbox and it means so much to me :)

**Author's Note:**

> So, I had a deep lust for a serial killer au but just couldn't find one to my fancy so I thought fuck it! I'll write it. I hope you enjoy what I've written so far. I'm really looking forward to jumping into this.


End file.
